


Dearly Departed

by JawnyTheHobbit



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:25:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JawnyTheHobbit/pseuds/JawnyTheHobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"John, I need to tell you something about Mary."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first ever fanfiction, I hope you guys like it! My friend tells me this chapter finishes strangely, so just remember there's another one coming :) Thank you to all readers!

“John.”

“…”

“John.”

“…”

“John I would greatly appreciate it if you didn’t ignore me.”

“Piss off.” “… Okay, so I said the wrong thing-”

“You’re damn right you said the wrong thing.”

“… Look, John, to be perfectly honest with you I have no idea what I could possibly have said to cause you to swing your fist at my face in the middle of dinner.” Sherlock said quickly, a tissue held to his lip. He turned to look out the window of the cab. To his left, he could hear John shift in his seat and sigh.

“On second thoughts, most of what I say does usually lead to someone punching me in the face.” He looked at John, hoping his comment would help his situation, but found his flatmate staring at him with a look of despair on his face.

“Sherlock, Mary and I are getting married in two days. And you shouting out her whole bloody life story in the middle of a restaurant isn’t exactly what you’re supposed to do!” He closed his eyes and shook his head.

“I… I’m sorry John I didn’t think-”

“No, no. You didn’t-!” John stopped himself and lowered his voice, taking in a breath. “You didn’t think that there were some things that she would want to tell me in her own time, rather than having them told to me by my pisshead flatmate two days before we’re supposed to get married.” John looked back up at Sherlock, and Sherlock knew this was the moment to apologise.

“I’m sorry John. Please, forgive me.” Sherlock looked down at his lap. He knew he shouldn’t have done it. He knew from the many times he had met people for the first time that deducing their eating habits or the condition of their marriage wasn’t something that they particularly appreciated.

But Mary… he read something in Mary.

Something he felt he wouldn’t have the heart to tell John.

But then again, he was often reminded that a heart was something that he lacked.

\-----

As they reached the top of the stairs to their apartment, John threw down his coat down onto the sofa. He went into the kitchen and lit up the kettle. Sherlock dropped his coat lazily on the floor and curled up in his chair, bringing his knees up to his chin

. He closed his eyes, having no intention of opening them any time soon. John would surely have another go at him if he made any kind of eye contact, and that was something he was determined to avoid.

“Sherlock, can we talk?” John walked into the living room with a mug of tea in each hand. He placed one on the table next to Sherlock’s chair, then sat himself down in his armchair with a sigh. He put down his mug and rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands.

They sat in silence for a moment.

Then Sherlock opened his eyes.

“John, I need to tell you something about Mary.”

“No Sherlock I wanted- ” He stopped. He looked up.

“Sherlock?” He paused. “What’s going on?”

Sherlock looked into John’s eyes, and could see the anger building up inside his friend. He had to phrase this carefully. He might get punched again. And that hurt.

“When I saw Mary tonight, I…” he stopped.

He can’t. He can’t tell John what he saw.

He can’t tell John that Mary is a liar.

“When I saw Mary,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “I knew she was right. For you. And… and I’m glad you were able to make the right choices in my absence.” He winced internally. God, that was terrible.

Although John seemed to have bought it. He blinked a few times, nodded, and sat back in his chair. “Is that what you wanted to tell me?” he said, frowning slightly.

“Well, um, yes. I- I thought you should know what I, uh, what I thought of your future… wife.” He threw a smile at John. The doctor looked confused. Sherlock didn’t blame him.

“OK, well thanks for that.” John looked at Sherlock, then got up from his armchair. As he walked out the door to his room, he stopped and turned.

“Sherlock, you know nothing’s going to change, right?” Sherlock looked at his friend with a frown. “Just because Mary and I are getting married doesn’t mean I’ll forget about you.” Sherlock felt his insides turn. “I’ll never forget about you Sherlock.” John looked away, hovering in the doorway for a moment.

Sherlock looked at his flatmate. _What are you talking about, John_? He said to himself. _Of course you won’t_. He frowned. _Won’t you_?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Put some pants on and get me drunk before I change my mind."

This was it.

Everything had to go perfectly.

Sherlock had talked to Molly, made sure he wouldn’t take in too much alcohol tonight. It does bad things to his mind palace.

Tonight was the night before John’s wedding, and Sherlock was taking him out.

Out to drink.

In pubs.

With _people._

Sherlock had only ever gotten drunk once before, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience.

It involved Mycroft, and something to do with the missile launching codes being lost in the toilet. He was never quite sure what happened that night but his condition the morning after suggested to him he never wanted to find out.

But now that John had so unexpectedly announced Sherlock as his best man (and friend), taking him out for an evening of _fun_ and … _mingling_ was something that was required of him.

He just hoped it would go well. He wanted to impress John. Sherlock wasn’t entirely sure why he wanted to impress his friend so badly, but he knew he did. And that was enough to go on for now.

“Sherlock? You ready?” John walked down the stairs in a pair of jeans and a shirt, his usual black jacket under his arm. Sherlock looked up from his laptop and found his eyes lingering on the sight of his freshly showered, unshaven flatmate. He felt his stomach swirl, although he had no idea why.

Snapping out of his trance, Sherlock looked at John’s face and instantly knew he had done something wrong. John was standing in the doorway, his hands on his hips and a frown dominating his brow.

“What?” Sherlock said, trying to sound as innocent as possible.

“Sherlock. You’re in your underwear.”

Sherlock looked down and became aware of the heat of his laptop burning his bare legs. He flinched and slammed his laptop shut.

“… Sorry.” He sat there in his pants, looking up at his flatmate with a faint smile.

John sighed and gestured to Sherlock’s room. “Put some clothes on.”

“Why?” Of course he knew why, but he didn’t want to go. He wanted to spend this last day with John alone.

“Sherlock, this night is all about me and how I’m never going to be single again for the rest of my life. So put some pants on and get me drunk before I change my mind.”

Sherlock slid off his chair with a huff, and the sight of the ‘high-functioning sociopath’ acting so immature made John chuckle a little. He himself was still a little unsure about the whole marriage thing, but he loved Mary and he knew this was the right thing to do. Even if it meant dealing with a five year old every time he visited 221B.

The word visited rang in his head. He wasn’t going to live here anymore. He wasn’t going to find heads in the fridge, toes in the microwave and eyeballs in the tea anymore. He wasn’t going to hear a violin sing at two in the morning, or the constant tapping of a laptop keyboard as they sat watching crap TV together.

He was going to miss life with Sherlock Holmes.

He was going to miss Sherlock.

 

 

They were on their sixth pub, and John knew he was drunk. Really drunk.

Now he was dragging Sherlock out of the pub, his friend’s arms flailing around in an attempt to drive the equally drunk thug who was stumbling towards them.

They got into an argument. Something about ash. Or something.

In the cab, Sherlock was wobbling in his seat. John held his friend by the shoulder in an attempt to keep him upright, but Sherlock just leant into the extra support and fell asleep in John’s hand.

They somehow reached the top of the stairs of 221B, everything becoming a bit of a blur.

And for some reason their intoxicated selves decided to play a game of Rizla.

 

 

Sherlock squinted, staring at the piece of Rizla paper stuck to John’s forehead.

“I dunno who you are- I dunno who you’re suppos’be” Sherlock said, his eyes half-closed and his whole body swaying from side to side in his armchair.

“You picked the name!” John burped, and felt himself slide down the front of his seat. Sherlock frowned slightly and put his glass down on the table next to him. He put a hand on John’s shoulder and slid down his own chair, joining his friend on the floor.

“Sherlock.”

“Yeah John?”

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“Yeah?”

A grin broke out across John’s face. Sherlock frowned.

“Sherlock Holmes! Thass who you are- who I wrote on your … paper!” John was giggling, his head rolling back.

Sherlock frowned, and rested his head in his hands. “What so- so- …” he trailed off, then closed his eyes. His head drooped, and John pursed his lips.

“Sherlock.”

“…”

“Sherlock you’re- you’ve fallen-... Sherlock!”

Sherlock flinched, waking up with a snort.

John burst into a fit of laughter, pointing at his frowning flatmate who looked so innocent, offended that he was disturbed. God, John should get Sherlock drunk more often.

After a few minutes of laughter, John wiped the tears from his eyes and looked at Sherlock.

He was asleep again.

John smiled and stood up, supporting himself with the arm of his chair. He should sleep, John thought. He doesn’t do it often.

 John brushed a hair out of Sherlock’s eyes, and felt a familiar feeling stir up in his stomach.

A turning, tingling, swirling sensation that warmed his whole body up to the tips of his fingers. He felt his face go hot. It was a feeling he had felt before. A feeling he had felt when he met Mary.

No, he thought. No. I’m getting married tomorrow. Stop it. Stop this.

He put a hand against his cheeks to cool them down. He took in a breath. It’s the alcohol. You’re pissed out of your mind. It’s just the alcohol.

With an affirmative nod, he grabbed his flatmate under the arms and dragged him to his room. Sherlock was a lot lighter than he expected. Even with all that muscle. The muscle that made his shirt buttons almost pop. The popping he wanted to do himself, with his own fingers-

Stop. Shut up.

With a grunt, John lifted Sherlock onto his bed and threw a sheet over him. He’ll have cleared his mind in the morning.

The morning he’s getting married.

Married to someone who isn’t Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
